Random Transformers Drabbles
by Andresome04
Summary: Just the first of some random ideas that are floating in my head that I decided to put on paper-or screen in this case. I just wanted to write something simple, and put some practice into my writing. If anyone has any requests feel free to PM me or write them in the comments.
1. The Voice

Tailgate walked the halls of the Lost Light, a light skip added to his steps as he hummed a tune. Coming from his own hab suite, he was on his way towards Swerve's bar for a drink or two and to delight in some company with friends. Recently finishing another Primal Vernacular session with his roommate Cyclonus, the minibot couldn't help but allow his thoughts drift back to the lessons they had just gone over for the past 3 cycles.

His vocabulary was certainly improving as he was now able to form simple sentences and hold a basic conversation if the words proved to be manageable for the minibot to engage in. His accent was terrible-even he had to admit it-but his efforts were undeniable. He'd always stick to one word no matter how many times he repeated it until he was able to say it in an acceptable manner that had even Cyclonus patting him on the helm with a soft look in his crimson optics. He loved the appraisal that he was given by the old warrior whenever he accomplished something, it left a warm feeling running through his systems that remained for a good 5 cycles. He'd always tried to earn the mech's approval no matter what he was doing. Cyclonus was a difficult mech to impress and seldom showed his thoughts no matter what situation he was in, thus Tailgate sought to make it his mission to draw out every emotion the mech possessed whenever he could-most of the time its the negative emotions like annoyance and frustration.

However, Tailgate refused to let that hinder his resolve to building a true relationship with the old warrior, being one of the only people who he felt a strong connection to. He's able to classify certain characteristics that not many others see when it comes to the purple mech. Sure in the exterior Cyclonus seems to be the kind of lonesome mech that prefers the company of his privacy than with other people, but Tailgate sees a mech that simply doesn't connect too fondly within the popular crowd and has some difficulty finding a common ground with others. Being a much older mech than the majority, his interests differ with most; this added with the fact of his continuous grief for the loss of Tetrahex. Because of this, Tailgate is determined to find that resolution to his grief and allow him to finally integrate into society once again.

His thoughts then drifted to near the end of the session where Tailgate, in a sudden bit of irrationality, asked Cyclonus if he could sing him another song in Primal Vernacular. The last time he sang one was when the mini was recovering from his case of cybercrosis. After seeing the shocked look given to him, Tailgate immediately interpreted it as a sign that the mech had no intention of fulfilling such an outlandish request and that the previous event was just a one-time thing. Fumbling with his apology, Tailgate was about to retract his request when Cyclonus asked what type of song he'd like to listen to. Feeling giddy once again with a new-found joy, Tailgate insisted that any song was fine and for the rest of the session, he sat on Cyclonus' birth as he listened to the mech vocalizing an old war song. It was then that he vowed that he would work even harder to someday master the language so he may understand all the lyrics to Cyclonus' wonderful songs.

Now renewed with a sense of purpose, Tailgate added more vigor to his steps as he continued his path towards the bar. However, he was once again distracted when he heard a voice resonating from the wall to his left. Coming to a complete stop, Tailgate waited, deciphering if he merely imagined the voice in his processor but then he heard it again. This time, the mini traced the noise to be from the only room around his area. If memory served correct, Rung's room was the only one isolated from the rest since he was the ship's psychiatrist.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Tailgate pressed his audio receptor against the door and listened. His visor widened at immediately realizing that not only was the voice _singing_ , but the lyrics were in Primal Vernacular!

Spark splaying rapidly and senses entirely focused on the voice, Tailgate slowly opened the door as carefully as he could as to not disturb the melody. Fortunately, the door was unlocked since it logically was welcome to all visitors, allowing Tailgate to peek in his little helm through the small crevice that he made. It hadn't fully occurred to him that this was Rung's office and that the only person who could possibly claim ownership to that voice was RUNG of all people should have been a shock to him. At the moment, his main focus was looking for the mech in question and solving the mystery as to the source of the singing voice.

His optics searched the room until it landed on the back of a chair displayed behind a large desk, hiding the mech sitting in it. The voice was obviously resonating from whoever was sitting on that chair, but whose form was completely covered by it. Tailgate strained to see past the annoyance that was the chair and shifted the door a little more so he could walk into the room. He froze when he saw the chair suddenly swing side to side as the voice continued its serenade. Eventually, the chair made a full swing bringing whoever was in it to face the desk-and the door.

Rung, optics closed and with a small open smile on his face, finished the last verse of the song with a soft hum, carrying the tune for a full klik before opening his optics with a satisfied look on his faceplate.

Only to suddenly become frozen in shock as he caught sight of his door partially open and partially concealing an equally frozen Tailgate staring back at him with an equally shocked expression.

Both mechs stared at each other for what seemed like several kliks, neither willing and just too afraid to break the awkward silence that befell upon the room. Suddenly Tailgate, as if suddenly being poked by one of Whirl's pincers, jerked in place and scrambled for a quick apology.

"Sorry for disturbing you! I just heard you from across the hall and-I mean I wasn't loitering or anything-I was just walking and I heard your voice and I didn't know whose it was and I was curious and I never heard anyone sing in Primal Vernacular before-other than Cyclonus-and I was really, really curious and I really liked your voice and-Oh Primus I sound like a creep don't I? I'm REALLY SORRY! I promise I won't come in without asking again. I'm really sorry! BYE!"

A swift slam of the door signified the minibot's retreat, leaving Rung to ponder over what in the pits just happened.


	2. A Dragonformers Tale: Worry

Perhaps it is bound to happen sooner or later. Young seedlings are destined to outgrow the dependability of their providers until their curiosity gets the better of them and suddenly the outside world seems like a much more interesting place than home. Young minds suddenly become bored with the same routines, same faces, same sights; a chance to escape from the diurnal pattern sounds quite fetching. Exploration, journey, adventure; these things invade their thoughts and when the opportunity arises, they can't help but take the chance while they still can. And eventually, it becomes quite evident that home will simply be a sweet memory.

Cyclonus wonders if the little runt that he has taken in will ever dream of such thing: to long for independence without any restriction. Will Tailgate ever wish to explore and make future discoveries without the presence of his protector? Will Tailgate ever get bored of him? Bored of this lifestyle, of their daily lessons and almost constant contact?

Tailgate is still young of course, but he is nowhere near as young and helpless as when Cyclonus found him those many years ago. He was the only hatchling from his abandoned clutch to be able to escape a frozen death that took his siblings and was able to hatch thanks to a nearby stream of lava heating his egg. Admittedly, Cyclonus was initially going to eat the youngling since his hunt was ruined thanks to its loud cries, but just as he was about to snap his jaws around the little head, tiny paws suddenly latched onto his snout. Too shocked to even process the fact that his hunt was halted once again, he could only stare as the hatchling began to nuzzle its snout against his own in a display of complete trust and affection that had the older dragon floored. When realizing the situation in its entirety, Cyclonus was left with making the decision whether to leave the youngling or take it with him. Eating it was out of the question since he really couldn't bring it in himself to killing something that had placed this much trust in him. Then, when the youngster began to nuzzle and lick his own leg, his decision was made, albeit a bit reluctantly. Not long afterward he had the infant in his maw by the scruff of the neck and were trekking back to his own home.

Cyclonus named the youngling Tailgate for reasons unknown but because it just fit. He quickly found himself in a situation where he became the guardian that the infant needed teaching him the basic components of survival. This in itself was no easy feat. The youngling was always distracted by the simplest things. Trying to teach him one thing often took a matter of days, if not weeks for the thing to master. The dragon had absolutely no malevolent bone in his body, initially refusing to harm a single living organism even if it was meant for food. Primus knows how long it took Cyclonus to finally get through the dragon's head that killing was a necessity for survival if done moderately, proving no real harm to the environment around them. As time passed, Cyclonus discovered that Tailgate was a HUGE cuddler, always wanting to snuggle himself against his own side in order to receive the warmth that radiated from his body. The little dragon also wished to be near Cyclonus as much as possible, sometimes a little too near as Cyclonus often had to watch his own steps as to not crush the young dragon beneath his claws.

As big as an annoyance as Tailgate was-and still is-Cyclonus couldn't help but feel a newfound purpose in his life. For some reason or another, life seemed to no longer be a droll existence for the older dragon. Instead, it was filled with just a bit of thrill- _just a bit_ -as he observed Tailgate perform different antics and shenanigans that made his life a bit more interesting. A growing need to protect Tailgate with all of his being had developed as the years passed on. Eventually, he came to terms that he'd more than willingly rip the land apart and scrape the sky than allow him to come to even the slightest harm.

But now? Now Tailgate was no longer a helpless infant that needed guidance. He no longer required a guardian to care for his needs or to stand vigil over his every move. Tailgate was nearing full-fledged adulthood. His once round baby-like features were becoming more chiseled in a way that no longer screamed infancy. Muscle was growing out of the small mounds of fatty flesh that made up his legs and said limbs were becoming longer, sleeker, thanks to the running, swimming, and hunting he was practicing at a daily basis. Cyclonus no longer had to watch his footing as Tailgate's growth also included height, although it was evident that dragons of Tailgate's species don't necessarily grow very large, as Tailgate was just shy of reaching the top of his chest.

Once again, Cyclonus was left pondering if the day would ever come that Tailgate would no longer wish to be near his presence any longer. If he will ever leave and never return to this cave? To finally be a dragon of his own will and free from the rule of others.

He knew he couldn't stop the inevitable. Tailgate was just like any other young dragon with a curious mind and an insatiable appetite for adventure. If he wished to venture off on his own then he will whether Cyclonus agreed or not. However, it still left the most important questions unanswered and a perturbing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Will Tailgate leave him? And if so, will Cyclonus be able to let him go?

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

The day had come sooner than he would have liked but again, one cannot delay the inevitable.

Tailgate was now an adult dragon. Ever since reaching the final stage of his growth spurt, all youngling characteristics were replaced with upgraded versions of an adult. His height finally reached to his shoulder and his once dainty paws had sharp claws ready to tear through prey. Long shapely legs now supported a stout body, allowing him the advantage of speed and endurance. A shapely tail now added agility to his abilities which was certainly better than the small stump that proved to be more dead weight than stability. His hide also thickened, offering protection from outside elements such as weather and the rough terrain. Tailgate had finally grown into his prime. A true dragon able to take on anything thrown at him with stride.

Cyclonus had to admit, Tailgate never looked more gorgeous than he did now. Practically radiating youth and purity, Tailgate was the epitome of beauty that any dragon would envy. Not only was he physically appealing (by god, he could compliment that cute little aft for hours) but his personality was simply attracting, only adding to his virtue. He never felt luckier than to have this dragon by his side each and every day.

Looking at him with a sense of pride in his red optics, he watched Tailgate swim at a nearby river hunting his own afternoon meal for the day. Observing the way his body glide through the water with much grace and elegance, Cyclonus could have mistaken his movements for dancing. He couldn't reprimand himself for quickly becoming entranced by the show (for he had caught himself many times staring) since any dragon within distance would have been enthralled by the beauty that was dancing in the water. Within no time, Tailgate was able to catch his fill before emerging from the water and onto dry land. Seeing the water trickling down white and blue scales made Tailgate shine like a jewel under the afternoon sun. Again, Cyclonus undivided attention was on the young dragon even as he became airborne.

His eyes never left Tailgate for even a second. Finally, Tailgate landed smoothly on the perch of their shared cave, right in front of the older dragon. Cyclonus didn't even bat an eye during the ordeal, so focused on the being in front of him that he nearly ignored the greeting soluted to him.

"Hey, Cyclonus! I'm back!" Tailgate chirped cheeringly up at him.

 _That_ was his first warning sign that something was indeed off. Normally Tailgate would rush at him an affectionate nuzzle to his chest before admitting any greeting of some sort. He did not do so. His second warning sign was that Tailgate sounded a bit strained and his smile looked forced. Not to mention his tail was twitching in a manner that he recognized whenever the young dragon became nervous or anxious.

The older dragon definitely sensed something amiss and wasn't about to let something seemingly superficial go unnoticed. "Tailgate, what is wrong?" he asked bluntly.

His reaction was his third sign as the dragon immediately tensed before averting his gaze and lowering his helm to his shoulders. The twitch on his tail only worsened which made Tailgate sit on it with his hind legs in order to control it. The sight reminded Cyclonus of the days when Tailgate would perform such action when he was caught doing the unruly behavior. He could practically smell the nervousness aroma emanating from Tailgate which only heightened his own concern over the situation. Lowering his own helm so as to seem less intimidating and soothe the young dragon's worries, he eased his own sounds to a soft purring much like he used to when he was a hatchling.

"Tailgate, whatever is the matter you may tell me."

That seemed to help if a little. Said dragon shifted his turquoise optics to his own crimson ones before immediately withdrawing. After a long moment, Tailgate released a deep sigh before finally straightening himself and facing the older dragon head-on. His field radiated determination with a bit of fear which made Cyclonus uneasy since he couldn't fathom why Tailgate would fear him now if he'd never shown a trace of it before.

"Cyclonus. I was wondering if...well if, if I could-" he paused for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts before finishing his sentence. "I was wondering if I could.. _.leave for a while_."

The last part was so rushed Cyclonus almost had a difficult time understanding what was said, but when he mind finally processed the words, his breathing stopped and he stilled. For a moment nothing was said. Not a word or a sound from either dragon. It seemed as if time itself had stopped for no outlier from around them made a noise; not even the birds.

Concerned over the reaction or rather lack of reaction, Tailgate chirped questioning at him and lowered his ears in worry. "Cyclonus?" No response. In his growing panic, he quickly added, "It won't be long! I promise!" His words fell on deaf ears. In an almost desperate plea, he let out a whimper to his older protector. "Cyclonus?"

The older dragon could only stare at Tailgate in the same stone-cold expression that essentially concealed each emotion in a cool facade. But on the inside, Cyclonus could only feel a growing pit in his stomach, quickly spreading to his chest. It felt as if a darkness was consuming him from the inside out, leaving a cold ache in its wake.

It had finally come. Tailgate was grown and now had new interests that were beyond Cyclonus and his home. Tailgate was leaving him. His words were only a minimal balm to soothe the impact of his proposition. The small ventures where Tailgate would ask to explore the territory on his own were only small practices to what was about to happen and was occurring at present. Those were only preparations to what the grand finale would bring. Pathetic. He should have seen this coming. Should have predicted that this was to happen.

Now what? Tailgate had trapped him in a corner. He couldn't refuse. What right did he have of taking away this dragon's freedom? Tailgate was bound to leave sooner or later. Why is he surprised in the first place? This was to be expected, wasn't it? The time had come whether he liked it or not. So, why was he hesitating?

"Cyclonus, please answer me..."

The weak, desperate whimper was enough to distract him from his thoughts and to fully take in the dragon before him. Was tailgate looking at him with those wide- _beautiful_ -blue eyes of his filled with worry and... sorrow? Yes, sorrow was there, but why? Did he believe that Cyclonus would refuse him? Did he really want to leave that badly-so suddenly after everything they had been through? He couldn't deny that even with the thought of his leaving made him feel empty, the fact that he had caused this sadness made his spark _wrench_ in agony. Thus, was the final push needed for Cyclonus to yield to his pleas.

Swallowing a large lump that made its way inside his throat, he gave his reply.

He couldn't help the gruffness that came with it. "You do not need my permission to walk as you please Tailgate. Not any longer." He hoped that Tailgate couldn't hear the miniscule whimper that came with each breath that he took. "You are fully grown now. A true dragon that has earned the respect that which our species deserves." His voice suddenly became hoarse as he uttered his next words. "You don't need me as your protector any longer. You are able to make your decisions as you see fit. Therefore if you wish to leave," he couldn't stop the growl from forming at the back of his throat as his fangs grounded together so hard he could taste energon from between his gums.

 _ **"Then. Leave."**_

Tailgate's reaction was expected but it didn't make it less agonizing to watch. Seeing those big blue optics widen before shriveling in sadness. Those cute antenna lowering behind his helm in both shock and dismay. His posture shrinking away as if scalded and with every step he took away from him, Cyclonus' spark felt as if it was cracking. The darkness inside him consumed his entire being. He couldn't move, wouldn't dare to, not if it meant driving away Tailgate even more.

 _'But wasn't that the point?'_

He watched as Tailgate eventually stopped his backpedal. A small whimper was heard emanating from the little dragon and it only made his spark break even more. For a few moments, they simply stared at each other. One set of blue optics wide with hurt and sorrow; one pair of red narrowed in pure self-loathing and agony.

Finally, Tailgate turned away, helm lowered to the ground and shoulders slumped as he slowly made his way towards the mouth of the cave, wings tucked tight against his frame and tail dragging on the ground. When he reached the small opening, he turned towards his host one final time mimicking a final plea, before veering away to his initial direction. With a large snap of his wings, he was airborne gliding towards the setting horizon.

Away from the cave. Away from Cyclonus.

Said dragon could only watch as the turquoise dragon soon became a tiny white speck and continued to watch until he was no longer discernable. His search pursued long after the sun had set and the stars graced the sky with their candescent glow. Even when dawn began and the sun once again arose from its wake, Cyclonus remained unyielding. Even when the cycle proceeded for a seventh rotation, the purple dragon persisted in his stoicism, optics glued to the area where he had last saw his ward. Even when the terrible ache caused his limbs to shake and the pain in his spark throbbed, he couldn't tear his optics away from in front of him.

After the eleventh rotation, he allowed his legs to give way and settle beneath him. Still, the sprawled position offered no respite from his tormented spark and so he continued his stare. Not even the anguished growl of his tank was enough to divert his attention.

Finally when the cycle finally reached its twenty-fifth- _or was it twenty-eight_ -rotation, something within Cyclonus crumbled. The last pillar that offered the only support Cyclonus needed for his otiose search fell away. The last shred of sanity holding Cyclonus in one piece was finally torn. With a long, accumulated, agonized roar, Cyclonus released all repressed emotions of desolation, loath, frustration, fury, _everything._

His roar carried all his sorrows across the land, through the lakes, and past the mountains that comprised of his territory and beyond. A small thought dared to settle in his processor. The thought that perhaps Tailgate would have heard his call and would come back to him. What a fool's idea.

He is a fool. He was the fool for fooling himself into hoping that there ever was a chance that Tailgate might want to stay forever. He was the fool for ever believing a thing called hope. _Hope is a lie._ A hypocrite. An idiot. An imbecile. A moron for ever blinding himself from the truth. From straying from his own wisdom all because of a youngling who managed to embed himself into the cracks of his own callous spark.

Eventually, he collapsed. Body and mind too exhausted to continue this torturous strain of a search. Finally, his optics closed shut, but before he became lost to nightmares, one final thought trudged in his aching processor.

 _'It's so cold.'_

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

The needs of his body ultimately outmatched the warring pull between his mind and spark and so with the little energy he had, Cyclonus set out for his first meal in weeks. Initially planning to kill a few lone cyber-bucks as his meal, Cyclonus quickly found that even his actions were prey to his conflicting emotions. Before he could control himself, he was lost to the sudden rush of fury and desolation. By the time he cleared his senses, the entire valley was drenched in energon from the herds of mechanimals he'd just slaughtered. He only had a few moments to appall at his actions before the hunger in his tanks took over and his processor was once again exploited. He engorged himself until his tanks could take no more and he expelled the excess contents.

Thus, was the life of the heartbroken dragon. Surrounded by death and consumed by grief. Gone was the pristine and proud warrior dragon that managed to overtake vast lands from his enemies and to claim them as his own. Now, now, lay the hollowed shell of what he once was. The broken husk of a dragon with a shattered spark.

His once lucid scales had dulled and cracked due to lack of maintenance and his once proud frame had become embrittled due to lack of nutrition. A trespasser could have easily challenged a claim on his territory and Cyclonus wouldn't have the heart, let alone the strength to stop them. A warrior run down and past his prime, all thanks to the absence of a little dragon.

Thirty-five days. It had been thirty-five days since he left: since he had last seen that small youngling. And yet, Tailgate never left his processor. In his dreams, in his mind's eye, even in hallucinations he would always see that little dragon before him prancing around or staring at him with those blue optics of his. And every time Cyclonus would try and reach out to finally be with the one his spark yearned for, Tailgate would vanish.

After thirty-five days of his absence. After thirty-five days without seeing those bright blue optics, small finials, beautiful white and turquoise scales, the everlasting spirit; Cyclonus could take no more. In a state of affliction, he slashed his own face and snout with his claws, no longer able to sustain the weight of despair in his spark. He allowed the energon to flow from his wounds, not caring for infection or the attraction of parasites. He deserved as much, he thought.

When the sun finally rose to begin the start of the thirty-sixth day, Cyclonus no longer had the desire to leave his cave. Death by starvation seemed like a reprieve to the suffering he felt in this life. Perhaps the gods will see a reason to offer him mercy in the next life and allow him peace after everything he has endured. Surely this punishment was enough to pardon all his sins.

And as the sun continued its ascent towards the sky, Cyclonus rested his head in between his claws and stared out towards the horizon. Towards the same spot, he had last seen Tailgate. Maybe before he too ascends, he might see one glimpse of Tailgate one last time, even if it is a vision, a hallucination. Just one last time. Just one. Cyclonus began to close his optics...

Movement. A tiny blur. A fluttering from the sides. An approaching figure.

His gaze turned into a glare, cycling his optics to get a better view of the lone form. An intruder wishing to stake a challenge for territory? He choked out a scoff. Let them have what they want. He couldn't care less at this point.

He continued to watch the approaching figure until he could perceive distinct physiognomy. Turquoise wings. Tiny frame. White scales...

His helm shot up from its resting position on the cave floor. Every muscle tense in his body as if preparing for a battle. Surely he must be seeing things. His mind was too debilitated, too burned out to distinct imagery from reality. He was madder than he initially realized if he was able to conjure such an image before his optics. He rose on shaky legs to perhaps clear the illusion from his optics, but the figure was still approaching ever closer to his cave.

 _'No. It couldn't possibly be...'_

Every fiber in his being tried to protest at the stupid thought that raced in his processor, but his spark had never felt heavier than it had at that moment. Then as the figure flew ever closer, certain features couldn't be made ever clearer. No matter how much his processor tried to deny what his optics were seeing, his broken spark finally throbbed in something different than pain. And right then and there, he knew the impossible was made real.

 **"** ** _Tailgate..."_**

The small dragon ached from his flight but he knew the precious cargo he carried was well worth traveling such a long journey. He didn't mean to take so long, he just wanted to give Cyclonus a present after all he has done for him. It wasn't much but he hoped it would make for a nice precedent for future endeavors similar to this one. He just wished Cyclonus would like it and not be too mad for staying away for so long.

When Tailgate finally saw the opening of his home cave and a large purple dragon sitting at the mouth of it, he forced his wings to flap even faster to reach his destination. It had been more than a month since he last entered in such a fashion. Finally, _finally,_ his little paws touched solid rock and he was able to give his wings the rest that they deserved. Placing the large mesh cloth holding his gift on the spot in front of him, he heaved a great sigh of relief. Then he thrust his blue optics to a pair of crimson.

Time seemed to still for a moment.

"Hi, Cyclonus. I'm back."

He observed the larger dragon, waiting for a response. He waited a few moments, all the while taking in the dragon's appearance. Terrible would have been a compliment. Cyclonus looked downright _dreadful_! What had happened to him? Did he fight with someone? Was food scarce that he wasn't able to eat properly? That would explain the weight loss but Cyclonus was always high maintenance. He looked like he hadn't bathed in weeks! All this added to his growing concern.

Why isn't he saying anything? Is he shocked? Well, no doubt about that. He had been gone for over a month! But he had expected at least a reprimand or some sign of disapproval from the dragon for missing for so long. Or even a bit of anger. But _nothing?_ Maybe he was angry and he was just concealing it really well. If that's the case then perhaps explaining now would be a good idea.

"Um...I'm sorry I was gone for so long Cyclonus. You see, I wanted to give you a surprise. A surprise gift actually, as a form of gratitude for everything you've ever done for me." Tailgate proceeded to unwrap his gift from the mech cloth and revealed the cargo he had carried with him all this way.

Glimmering from tip to base was a white horn. An exact replica of the one attached to Cyclonus' skull, his only remaining horn. It shimmered as light from the entrance shown upon it, revealing the true craftsmanship that was placed on it. Small latches were seen making up the small pocket inside the base, proving it was meant to wrap around a small area and stay in place with ease.

"I know it isn't much and it isn't a pebble to the mountain of things you've done for me, but still. I wanted to do this Cyclonus because I-well, I really, _really_ care for you Cyclonus. You mean the world to me and there's no one that comes close to how important you are to me."

Tailgate suddenly slumped with his helm lowered and eyes darting to the ground in guilt. "I know you're probably furious at me right now. And I understand if you might not want me around anymore. I-I just wanted to thank you for everything you've ever done for me, so before you kick me out," He paused for a moment, breathing a deep sigh before meeting his optics with the older dragon's. "Can you please wear the horn?"

It seemed like hours had past but were, in reality, a few minutes before Tailgate grew too anxious from the silence.

"Cyclonus?"

Tailgate was never given a warning. He could only squeak in shock before the larger dragon suddenly lunged and attacked him with every ounce of his frame. Before he could even react, large claws wrapped around his frame shoving him towards a scaly purple chassis while a bony snout smothered him from behind with what he could only describe as rough nuzzles. It took Tailgate a few moments to realize that Cyclonus was embracing him, not pushing him away. The realization eased his worry of being driven away drastically and so he too tried to return such affection by giving a few nuzzles to the chassis he was pressed against. After a while, it was clear that Tailgate wasn't going to squirm out of his confines any time soon, so he simply lay in his hold until the older dragon had deemed it enough affection.

Meanwhile, the larger dragon was busy marveling at the miracle that he held within his clutches. Tailgate, his beloved Tailgate had returned to him. This beautiful, _wonderful,_ dragon had finally come home. How such a marvel was made possible he didn't know. Perhaps the gods had answered his prayers, but he had no need to question such reasoning behind an action.

From the moment that little dragon landed on his cave floor, every rational thought and every word he wished to convey had disappeared. Suddenly all emotions within his spark took control and he found himself lunging and engulfing Tailgate in his claws. Too choked up on his raging spark, he could only settle for embracing the white dragon with every fiber of his being. Profusely thanking the gods for the blessing they had bestowed upon him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Cyclonus loosed his hold by a margin but still kept the small dragon within his clutches. Tailgate gave one last nuzzle to the purple chassis before moving his helm towards the skeletal one above him. Blue optics met red and the world around them seemed insignificant compared to the other. The moment lasted only for a short while, broken by the little dragon speaking to the larger.

"Cyclonus? Did you really miss me?" Tailgate asked in a hushed whisper, ostensibly afraid of the other's response. The purple dragon merely stared into the optics of the other for a moment before touching his snout to the tip of the others. "Yes. _Very_ much."

Tailgate's field glimmered with pure joy at the honest answer before shifting to fully face Cyclonus better. "So does that mean I can stay?"

Cyclonus didn't even spare another second. "For as long as you may desire my company Tailgate. I know for certain that I will always long for yours."

That night, both dragons laid together for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. The larger wrapping his frame snuggly around the miniature. Two pieces of a whole finally complete in each other's embrace. For the first time in a long while, Cyclonus no longer felt the cold solidarity of an empty nest nor the pangs of a broken spark. Now, he was complete, both in spirit and body. Tailgate's horn firmly settled atop his helm.


	3. Mystery Protector

After a long days work, Ratchet heaved a great sigh as he finally locked the doors to his clinic. It had been a very tiring day. Mechs and femmes with a plethora of conditions that required medical attention came from all over the Dead End in order to receive the care that they needed. As usual, there had been no shortage of patients which left him up to his audios with different complaints of injuries, diseases, and God knew what else.

However, Ratchet wasn't quick to complain since he knew what he was signing up for the moment he opened his little medical hole-in-the-wall. He knew the type of people he would meet and treat on a daily basis; the kind of background each and every one of them had come from. He knew every second of their lives depended on whether they were still functional to earn whatever scrap they can find at this dead end. Some days they were lucky, others not. All in all, he knew that these people deserved at least some ray of hope to drive them through these muggy days and a way out of this bottomless pit. It was the least that he can do.

So with a final tug to the superficial lock, the medic made his way down the street where he began his treck to his temporary abode. The apartment that he rented on a weekly basis was a tiny place, only serving as a berth space for when he traveled from Iacon to the Dead End. The only times he would use it are when he completed a days work or when he must rest before heading back to his real position as Chief Medical Officer in Iacon. But for now, he just wanted to give his joints a rest before resuming another long day of work.

The distance between his clinic and his apartment wasn't that far actually. A 10-minute walk at most was how long it usually took him at a brisk pace and at this particular time of day, staying off the streets was a wise idea. After all, one does not know what(or perhaps who) can be lurking in the shadows of the Dead End.

However, despite knowing all the dangers these streets had to offer, Ratchet wasn't too worried. Yes, he still remained on high alert for any particular sound that will raise suspicion, but Ratchet had something not many mechs had.

A second shield. Always there. Always watching.

He knew ever since one distinct night walking home that he noticed he was being followed. He tried losing the mech by taking a sudden turn and bolting to a small spot to hide in when he realized the footsteps that echoed his own stopped. He never knew what happened to the mech until he found the body the next day in the very spot that he hid in. Multiple slashes were seen across his chassis told the fate of the mech and the particular method at which he was slain.

But that wasn't the only sign. The number of break-ins to his clinic had also diminished drastically, almost as if someone had staked a claim that screamed **off-limits** and deterred any who even though about messing with his clinic.

Ratchet had a pretty good idea of who's responsible for all of this.

He kept a keen optic and audio all around him, trying to catch any sound that would give away any danger. Or perhaps his mysterious protector.

Finally reaching his apartment (thankfully he lived on the first floor and didn't have to take any additional stairs), he keyed his door open but before he took a step inside, he half-turned to give a final look. Nothing but the shadows of buildings caught his optic.

A sudden idea popped into his processor and before he could convince himself otherwise, he raced inside, not bothering to turn on the lights or closing the door. A few moments passed and Ratchet quickly returned with a small basket filled with energon sweets, engex, and some basic medical supplies. Placing the small basket at the front of the of his door, he straightened himself before giving a sharp nod to the shadows. Finally, he reentered his apartment and closed the door behind him. All the while, a small smile graced his face.

Minutes passed and the basket remained where it was placed. Eventually, a shadow loomed over the basket, engulfing it in darkness. A black servo reached over and grabbed the basket, cradling it to a white chassis. The mech could only grin at its contents before his yellowed optics caught the note pinned to the side of it. His faceplates softened at its message.

 _Thank You, Mystery Protector._

Sighing to himself, the mech looked back towards the apartment door, one hand cradling the basket, the other on the hilt of a sharpened sword. He stayed there for a moment before eventually walking off down the road, swords clanking against his hips as he continued to stare at the basket and the note attached to it. All the while thinking of how could a mech like Drift ever be so lucky.


End file.
